


First Kiss

by panicnot (project_break)



Category: My Beautiful Laundrette (1985)
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, POV Second Person, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_break/pseuds/panicnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First published 2011. </p><p>Johnny and Omar's first kiss, age 15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Medium edit for the sake of my sanity. Contains one casually-used racial slur.

'I saw you and Tiff at school,' Omar told you as you lay side by side on his floor one night when you were fifteen and staying over at his house. His tone wasn't accusatory, exactly, but there was a hint of displeasure in it.

'Yeah." You were suddenly uncomfortable.

'Why'd you kiss her?'

'I didn't,' you replied, defensive.

'It looked like you did.'

'Well.'

'Do you love her?'

'Leave it alone, Omo!' you said, more snappishly than you needed to, desperate to not talk about it.

'There's no need to get angry,' he told you. 'I was only asking.'

'Yeah,' you muttered.

'Sorry.'

'It's not really a big deal anyway,' you said, trying to fill the awkward silence.

'I wouldn't know.'

You rolled yourself over onto your stomach to look at him face to face.

'You've never been kissed?' you asked, curious.

'No,' he admitted, and though you couldn't see him too well in the dark, you knew he was embarrassed.

'Why not?' you asked.

'Why do you think?' he questioned back, snippy as you had been before.

'I don't know,' you said innocently, forgetting about racism for the moment and thinking just of him. Of his lovely brown skin and pretty dark eyes and soft hair. Why shouldn't everybody want to kiss him?

He sighed in a slightly put upon way, and turned his head away from you. 'Anyway,' he said, 'I want my first kiss to be with someone I love. Someone who loves me, too.'

'Oh,' you said.

'Do you love me?' he asked.

'Yes.' It came out without hesitation. He was your best mate. Of course you did. What a stupid thing to ask.

'I love _you_ ,' he offered in response.

'Good,' you said. What else could you say, really?

'I'd like you to kiss me,' he said, brazen as ever, and you paused for a moment, understanding what he was giving you permission to do. He was a Paki and a boy and your best mate, but once the idea was in your mind it wouldn't leave. What would it be like to kiss him? His mouth always looked so soft and he was such a pretty boy and if you were perfectly honest with yourself, you had always known girls weren't for you, so what would be the harm if it was just between you two if you indulged him and leaned over in the dark and gave him something so little, but so important? Something to make him feel good and happy and loved? What would be the harm in securing for yourself the small pleasure of always knowing you were his first in everything? His first and best friend, his first confidant, the first person he trusted enough to touch him like that. It would be so good, you thought, not just for him, but for you. It could be so good to kiss him. So nice. Why not give him his kiss? Why not take the first taste of him that anyone would have? Just one little kiss. It would be a secret to keep with him; it would make you closer; it would be something that no one else could claim - a guilty pleasure to keep all for yourself.

'Please, Johnny." He spoke quietly, but not as though he was afraid of rejection. It was like he already knew you would oblige and he just wanted it now. The thought filled you with a small thrill that pushed you to lean down to touch your lips to his, just lightly, your lips barely parted and pressed so gently. In one quiet moment, you took your claim to him. Your heart beat quickly when you thought of it and you were afraid, irrationally, that he would notice, so you moved back.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. You could still feel his breath, warm on your lips, and you thought for one crazy second... but you couldn't let yourself.

'That wasn't really a kiss,' he said quietly.

'No?' you asked, unsure what to think.

'No." He was confident.

'Should I try again?' you asked quietly fearful, hopeful.

'Yes.' And you leaned back down to give him another kiss, pressing your mouth to his more firmly, feeling your body fill with heat as he pressed back against you. _Oh,_ you thought, all at once shocked and thrilled. _Oh, he wants this. He's wanted me to be his first. I think... when he was talking earlier, he was saying he's been waiting for this, for me._

You pulled back just a bit and he chased you, arched his neck and touched his lips to yours again. You pushed him back down with your mouth, and felt his fingers brush your hair. You startled.

'Is this...?' he asked, uncertainly.

'Yes,' you assured him. 'It's...' then you kissed him again, shifting your body closer so you wouldn't over balance, parting your lips a little, moistening them and kissing his mouth over and over again, little warm kisses, and when you moved back again you could see his mouth was wet.

And, looking at him, you felt a shock of possessiveness course through you. The determination that now that you had become his first, you should be his only. No one else should have the right to see him like this: so beautiful and open. His eyes were big and dark and they glinted in the weak moonlight, and his parents were asleep in the next room and you stared at him, trying to think how you could keep him all for yourself. Imagining how good it would be to kiss him again and again after tonight, and maybe, later, to undress him and touch him in all the places that his clothes hid from you, and then he really would be yours and,

'Johnny?' he asked quietly, his fingers tugging lightly at your hair. You shivered.

'Yes?' you answered, leaning into his touch. He sighed.

'Please don't stop,' he said. Always knowing what he wants, your Omo.

'No,' you breathed, and you moved closer, quickly, pressed yourself against the length of his body and pressed your mouth to his, parted his lips with your tongue, gently, and tasted him. You knew then that, one way or another, he would always be yours.


End file.
